And again—“As the press of this country now exists, it would seem to be expressly devised by the great agent of mischief, to depress and destroy all that is good, and to elevate and advance all that is evil in the nation. The little truth which is urged, is usually urged coarsely, weakened and rendered vicious by personalities, while those who live by falsehoods, fallacies, enmities, partialities, and the schemes of the designing, find the press the very instrument that devils would invent to effect their designs.”
A witty, but unprincipled statesman of our own times, has said, that “speech was bestowed on man to conceal his thoughts;” judging from its present condition, he might have added—“the press, in America, to pervert truth.”
But were I to quote the volumes of authority from American and English writers, they would tire the reader. The above are for the present quite sufficient to establish the fact, that the press in the United States is licentious to the highest possible degree, and defies control; my object is to point out the effect of this despotism upon society, and to show how injurious it is in every way to the cause of morality and virtue.
Of course, the newspaper press is the most mischievous, in consequence of its daily circulation, the violence of political animosity, and the want of respectability in a large proportion of the editors. The number of papers published and circulated in Great Britain, among a population of twenty-six millions, is calculated at about three hundred and seventy. The number published in the United States, among thirteen millions, are supposed to vary between nine and ten thousand. Now the value of newspapers may be fairly calculated by the capital expended upon them; and not only is not one-quarter of the sum expended in England, upon three hundred and seventy newspapers, expended upon the nine or ten thousand in America; but I really believe that the expense of the ‘Times’ newspaper alone, is equal to at least five thousand of the minor papers in the United States, which are edited by people of no literary pretension, and at an expense so trifling as would appear to us not only ridiculous, but impossible. As to the capabilities of the majority of the editors, let the Americans speak for themselves.
“Every wretch who can write an English paragraph (and many who cannot,) every pettifogger without practice, every one whose poverty or crimes have just left him cash or credit enough to procure a press and types, sets up a newspaper.”
Again—“If you be puzzled what to do with your son, if he be a born dunce, if reading and writing be all the accomplishments he can acquire, if he be horribly ignorant and depraved, if he be indolent and an incorrigible liar, lost to all shame and decency, and incurably dishonest, make a newspaper editor of him. Look around you, and see a thousand successful proofs that no excellence or acquirement, moral or intellectual, is requisite to conduct a press. The more defective an editor is, the better he succeeds. We could give a thousand instances.”—Boston News.
These are the assertions of the Americans, not my own; that in many instances they are true, I have no doubt. In a country so chequered as the United States, such must be expected; but I can also assert, that there are many very highly respectable and clever editors in the United States. The New York papers are most of them very well conducted, and very well written. The New York Courier and Enquirer, Colonel Webb; the Evening Star, by Noah; the Albion, by Doctor Birtlett; Spirit of the Times, and many others, which are too numerous to quote, are equal to many of the English newspapers. The best written paper in the States, and the happiest in its sarcasm and wit, is the Louisville Gazette, conducted by Mr Prentice of Kentucky; indeed, the western papers, are, generally speaking, more amusing and witty than the eastern; the New Orleans Picayune, by Kendall, is perhaps, after Prentice’s, the most amusing; but there are many more, which are too numerous to mention, which do great credit to American talent. Still the majority are disgraceful not only from their vulgarity, but from their odious personalities and disregard to truth. The bombast and ignorance shown in some of these is very amusing. Here is an extract or two from the small newspapers published in the less populous countries. An editor down East, speaking of his own merits, thus concludes—“I’m a real catastrophe—a small creation; Mount Vesuvius at the top, with red hot lava pouring out of the crater, and routing nations—my fists are rocky mountains—arms, whig liberty poles, with iron springs. Every step I take is an earthquake—every blow I strike is a clap of thunder—and every breath I breathe is a tornado. My disposition is Dupont’s best, and goes off at a flash—when I blast there’ll be nothing left but a hole three feet in circumference and no end to its depth.”
Another writes the account of a storm as follows:—
“On Monday afternoon, while the haymakers were all out gathering in the hay, in anticipation of a shower from the small cloud that was seen hanging over the hilly regions towards the south-east, a tremendous storm suddenly burst upon them, and forced them to seek shelter from its violence. The wind whistled outrageously through the old elms, scattering the beautiful foliage, and then going down into the meadow, where the men had just abruptly left their work unfinished, and overturning the half-made ricks, whisked them into the air, and filled the whole afternoon full of hay.”
I copied the following from a western paper:—
“Yes, my countrymen, a dawn begins to open upon us; the crepusculous rays of returning republicanism are fast extending over the darkness of our political horizon, and before their brightness, those myrmidons shall slink away to the abode of the demons who have generated them, in the hollow caves of darkness.”
Again—“Many who have acquired great fame and celebrity in the world, began their career as printers. Sir William Blackstone, the learned English commentator of laws, was a printer by trade. King Charles the Third was a printer, and not unfrequently worked at the trade after he ascended the throne of England.”
Who Charles the Third of England was I do not know, as he is not yet mentioned in any of our histories.
The most remarkable newspaper for its obscenity, and total disregard for all decency and truth in its personal attacks, is the Morning Herald of New York, published by a person of the name of Bennett, and being published in so large a city, it affords a convincing proof with what impunity the most licentious attacks upon private characters are permitted. But Mr Bennett is sui generis; and demands particular notice. He is indeed a remarkable man, a species of philosopher, who acts up to his tenets with a moral courage not often to be met with in the United States. His maxim appears to be this—“Money will find me every thing in this world, and money I will have, at any risk, except that of my life, as, if I lost that, the money would be useless.” Acting upon this creed, he has lent his paper to the basest and most malignant purposes, to the hatred of all that is respectable and good, defaming and inventing lies against every honest man, attacking the peace and happiness of private families by the most injurious and base calumny. As may be supposed, he has been horse-whipped, kicked, trodden under foot, and spat upon, and degraded in every possible way; but all this he courts, because it brings money. Horse-whip him, and he will bend his back to the lash, and thank you, as every blow is worth so many dollars. Kick him, and he will remove his coat tails, that you may have a better mark, and he courts the application of the toe, while he counts the total of the damages which he may obtain. Spit upon him, and he prizes it as precious ointment, for it brings him the sovereign remedy for his disease, a fever for specie.
The day after the punishment, he publishes a full and particular account of how many kicks, tweaks of the nose, or lashes he may have received. He prostitutes his pen, his talent, every thing for money. His glory is, that he has passed the rubicon of shame; and all he regrets is, that the public is at last coming to the unanimous opinion, that he is too contemptible, too degraded, to be even touched. The other, and more respectable editors of newspapers, avoid him, on account of the filth which he pours forth; like a polecat, he may be hunted down; but no dog will ever attempt to worry him, as soon as he pours out the contents of his foetid bag.
It is a convincing proof of the ardent love of defamation in this country,